


The Dear John Letters

by angryhausfrau



Series: What is it That You're Fighting For [2]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24422536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryhausfrau/pseuds/angryhausfrau
Summary: Hawkeye writes to Trapper. This isn't a one-to-one match with After the War but there will be some references across works.
Relationships: "Trapper" John McIntyre/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Series: What is it That You're Fighting For [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755769
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

After pouring BJ into his new home in the Swamp, Hawkeye flops down on his own cot. He's drunk and heartsick and angry; angry at Trapper for leaving without a goodbye, angry at himself for missing his flight by ten lousy minutes, and angry at BJ for sleeping in Trapper's bunk, replacing Trapper, being someone other than Trapper.

Hawkeye is hungover and heartsick and angry. And there's wounded in the compound. And between BJ and Frank Burns, Hawkeye does more hand holding in the OR than he does at lovers' lane. It's not that BJ is a bad surgeon, not like Frank is, but he's green. Fresh out of residency and not even a hospital shift in the ER under his belt; he'd gone right from the graduation podium to the army. So Hawkeye has to walk him through pretty much every procedure. Because if he doesn't then Frank will and then they'll really be up a creek. By the end of the twelve-hour shift, extended because Frank is so incompetent and BJ so new that Hawkeye barely gets a scalpel in a patient the entire session, he misses Trapper almost more than he hates him.

A few more sessions in OR, and Hawkeye is sure he misses Trapper more than he hates him. The letter starts as a joke. A way for Hawkeye to yell at the putz, a way to get his frustrations out. He's never intending to actually send it. So it starts like this.

_Dear Fink,  
Boy am I cheesed off at you! You almost gave Radar an aneurysm with that little au revoir. And was that really the best you could do? I went all the way to Kimpo to try and see you off and I missed your plane by ten lousy minutes, you bastard. You couldn't have faked appendicitis or a heart attack or something and gotten the flight delayed? What's the point of being a doctor if you can't even fake a minor to serious medical emergency? Some friend you are!  
The trip wasn't a complete waste though, I got to meet your replacement, a Dr. BJ Hunnicutt. Despite his name, he hasn't been inducted into the Wednesday night perverts' club but he's a good cutter and a prankster after your own black heart. He's green though, hasn't yet acquired that olive drab finish made so popular by the army, and it makes me sorrier than ever that Frank Burns is in charge. He couldn't command his way out of a paper bag and he doesn't have the basic human decency of a goldfish. Or the brains. So I've sorta taken BJ under my wing, introduced him to the myriad delights of this mobile cesspool - wine, women, and song! Or in his case almost-gin, not making a pass at nurses cuz he's faithful to his wife, and chicanery. It makes me miss all of our drunken debauchery.  
~~It makes me miss you, you bastard.~~ _

Hawkeye can't bring himself to write any more. And there's more wounded in the compound. So he stuffs the letter away in his footlocker and doesn't think about it for a while.

  


They're getting a new commanding officer, thank God, but he's Regular Army, damn him, so everyone is worried. Well everyone except Frank - who's enraged and whiny - and Hot Lips - who vacillates between enraged at Frank's misfortune and giddy at the idea of a competent CO. Hawkeye is more worried than most because Lt. Col. Potter has been riding a desk for the two years since The Deuce and he needs competent people in the OR damn it. Maybe he can trick Frank into field promoting Hot Lips to a full surgeon.

But Hawkeye is worried for another, more personal reason. A Regular Army commander probably believed in pesky little army regulations like Article 125, an article of the UCMJ Hawkeye has broken often and enthusiastically. And up till now, he hasn't been worried about the repercussions. Henry wasn't exactly a straight arrow himself - no one who looked that way at Kinger in a backless sheath could be - and he didn't care about army regulations unless Frank and Hotlips made him care. So he hadn't cared that Hawkeye and Trapper would take a couple of nurses into Supply for some heavy petting and then emerge together, thirty minutes after the nurses left, looking very heavily petted. And Frank is too stupid to put two and two together to get four. But Potter is Regular Army and smarter than Frank - everyone is smarter than Frank, Radar's teddy bear is smarter than Frank - and that spells trouble. It's not like Hawkeye even plans to debauch with anyone, but he's always been a little camp and a lot flirty, and he doesn't think he can play it straight - haha - for the entirety of Potter's stint with the 4077. So he's worried. And Trapper is probably the only one who would understand.

_You're still a fink, but it's looking more and more like I might actually send this letter, and a lot has happened. In good news, old Ferret Face is on his way out as CO. In bad news, the new guy is an RA bird who hasn't seen the inside of an operating room in two years. I should've argued harder when Henry made me chief surgeon. Maybe I can get Frank to bust me to orderly as his last act as CO, that'd probably cheer him up. He's been moping harder than usual and even Hotlips is sick of it. Might be a chance at intercepting the pass, you know I'm good at that.  
Speaking of passes, I'm worried about what a Regular Army commander will do to the nightlife around here. Frank's too incompetent - and too busy with Hotlips - to police our nocturnal wanderings but this new guy probably has at least half a head on his shoulders. I suppose it's just as well; all the nurses are wise to me by now. Still I hope Potter doesn't expect us to be all GI about things. And hopefully Klinger won't get into too much trouble; his draft dodges really brighten up the place. If he gets forced into fatigues, it'll be olive drab and khaki as far as the eye can see. Guess we'll just have to see how the new guy shapes up.  
Speaking of new guys, BJ has been here for almost a week and is about ready to lose the training wheels. He's even bailed out Frank a time or two - the traditional right of passage for meatball surgeons all along the 38th parallel. And he's only upchucked twice! In fairness, one of those may have been meatloaf related rather than OR related, so I think he'll go the distance. Radar's yelling about choppers again so I'll leave you here.  
Still your friend, you crumb,  
Hawkeye_


	2. Chapter 2

Hawkeye is alive again, according to the United States Army, so he starts receiving a surprising backlog of mail. Six letters from his dad. And one letter from Trapper. The letter is short and casual, probably written right after Trapper got home, but it's something. Proof that Hawkeye hasn't been forgotten, hasn't been abandoned by yet another loved one. Proof that Hawkeye's letters are welcome in return. Maybe even proof that they could have some shadow of their former relationship, even after Korea. So Hawkeye vows to keep writing, to keep that thread of connection alive.

_Dear Trapper,  
Frank Burns has completely flipped his lid. I may not make it out of this alive! See, Col. Potter (that's our new CO and I'll tell you more about him later) left on a few days R&R and left Frank in charge. Frank, with all the levelheadedness of a bull when facing the Matador's cape, has decided that our unit is not operating at maximum efficiency. To rectify this tragedy, we've been subjected to more snap inspections, calisthenics, and cold showers than I've had in the previous month. But that wasn't enough! Nor was whitewashing all the rocks in the compound, sprucing up the latrines, and fumigating the enlisted men. No, Frank decided to take the M in MASH to heart and move us across the road. I am sitting here in the newly relocated swamp, the vast eternity of 400 feet away from my previous location, with nothing to show for it but two herniated disks. I've instructed BJ that, should I die in the night, he should send you this letter along with all of Frank's boxer shorts. I'm going to try and get some shuteye now, cuz of the aforementioned early-morning calisthenics. If I don't write anything else, assume I'm dead and inform my dad. I expect a humorous and heartfelt eulogy from you along with a brigade of twenty nurses to carry the casket._

One of his dad's letters recounted Trapper's visit to Maine for the ultimately unnecessary wake. Hawkeye found himself touched that Trapper had gone all that way to pay his respects. And he was glad that his dad hadn't been alone. If he ever kicked it for real, from something other than a Frank Burns induced hernia, he was glad to know that they'd be able to laugh at the funny stories and cry at the sad ones and send him out in style.

_Ah, swamp sweet swamp. Nothing quite like being back home after a long trip. If you haven't guessed by now, Frank had us move the MASH right back where it was before. I can only be glad we haven't had any wounded; it would be difficult to operate while carrying my personal effects and Frank has us on a very tight schedule of lunacy. I hope Potter comes back early so he can perform the approximately fifty hernia operations required by the camp. I didn't think I'd like the guy, being Regular Army and all, but Potter's a good surgeon and a better CO, even if he insists on Reveille. BJ and I were even able to talk him around on Klinger's dresses. Potter's able to make the tough decisions but he cares about us and is a real straight shooter. I think you'd really like him.  
Speaking of CO's, in another show of command brilliance Frank has banned gambling. Of course, this means we just bribed Klinger to act as lookout and carried on with the game anyway. Radar really cleaned up last night. I don't remember which of us taught him to play, but it wasn't one of our better ideas. Still the kid sends all the money home to his mom, so I can't begrudge him a win too much. Zale's pretty pissed though, he's out 300 bucks, and I guess he told Frank about it cuz Frank's now tearing the camp apart looking for the "lost" money. He even roped Radar into helping and it would be the height of dramatic irony if it weren't so stupid. Shelling's started again, so all surgical shifts are on call; I'll pick this back up somewhere between forever and an eternity later._

The OR session was a long one. They were really feeling Potter's absence and Frank got knocked out by a door about an hour in, although that may have actually sped things up. Unfortunately, when Frank came to, he blamed everyone except himself for the incident. And when Potter got back, he cried mutiny. Hawkeye sorta wished the door had done more damage. Maybe enough to send Frank home; he'd give anything to be away from that whining.

_The one downside to being alive in the army, aside from having to eat the food, is that you can be court martialed. We always said Frank had delusions of grandeur, but this delusion was grander than most. He actually tried to say that I'd committed mutiny against him because I was jealous of his surgical skills and patriotic manlyness. All because I told him to get a grip and actually run pre-op like a doctor. Clearly unfair demands for a man with all the calm under pressure of a volcano. Fortunately, the officer in charge of the hearing was willing to listen to reason, and could smell bullshit, so I'm still alive. Otherwise this part of the letter would probably be in different handwriting and it would be accompanied by a lot of pairs of shorts. But Frank actually tried to get me killed for knocking himself out with a door. I really wish we'd have swapped him out for BJ instead of you. And not just for the life expectancy of our patients. On the plus side, I got a free trip to Seoul so I'm going to go eat a non-mess tent meal on the army's dime._  
_Your friend, so you better write me back,  
Hawkeye_


	3. Chapter 3

Hawkeye isn't dead. More importantly, the patient is safe and on his way to a hospital ship off Inchon, no longer paralyzed. Radar and Margaret are safe and so are the rest of the 4077. Hawkeye is safe. He wants to feel relief, but mostly he feels tired. One half-hour nap in over twenty-four hours doesn't really cut it. But there's no horizontal surface on which to pass out, not even a suitably comfortable vertical surface - and he'd asked both Margaret and BJ to act as a pillow, with no success - so he goes to help set the Swamp back up. As soon as his cot is set up, Hawkeye passes out face down, oblivious to Frank and BJ moving around him.

BJ tries to put the still back together quietly, although Hawk is sleeping so deeply that not even Frank's whines are enough to stir him, and he finds a note addressed to Hawkeye hidden in the base. He hadn't found it when taking the still apart, it was clearly hidden by someone who knew the still inside and out, but it must have shaken loose during the Bug Out. It's in an unfamiliar hand, but BJ is pretty sure he knows who wrote it. Trapper John McIntyre. The man he's heard enough stories about to feel like he knows him despite never meeting. The man whose shadow he's lived in since he got to Korea. Sure he and Hawk are friends now, but when they first met Hawkeye hadn't even spared BJ a second glance. He was too wrapped up in the tragedy of Trapper leaving without saying goodbye. Well, here's his goodbye.

When Hawkeye wakes up, there's a note addressed to him in Trapper's handwriting laying next to his pillow. Hawkeye's hand shakes as he reaches for it. It isn't one that he's read before. Trapper must have hidden it someplace and BJ found it while he was packing up Hawkeye's gear. It must have been pretty well hidden for him to miss it for months, months which contained multiple snap inspections, courtesy of Frank Burns. The thought makes Hawkeye thrill with anticipation. What could it possibly contain that would make Trapper hide it so well? Nothing he wanted Frank to catch wind of, that's for sure. And Hawkeye is even wary of opening it in front of BJ. As good of friends as they are, as much as they joke and flirt and banter, there's parts of Hawkeye that BJ - with his perfect wife and perfect life waiting for him back in Mill Valley - just can't understand. And the depth of Hawkeye's relationship with Trapper is part of that.

So he makes the excuse of going out to take a shower, which he does actually need, to get what passes for privacy at the 4077. When he reads the note, he's glad he did. It's short, about as long as Trapper's first letter from the States, but it says a whole lot. It says that he's missed, that he's loved, that he meant as much to Trapper as Trapper did to him. But most importantly, it says goodbye.

When he gets back to the Swamp, Hawkeye burns the letter and then writes one of his own.

_Dear Trapper,  
I got your goodbye. The real one, not the one Radar passed on.  
Thank you.  
Hawkeye_

There's really nothing else to say.


	4. Chapter 4

Hawkeye is pretty surprised when he doesn't get any letters during mail call; he hopes the army hasn't declared him dead again. His dad is usually a regular weekly correspondent and Trapper writes him several times a month. BJ says you gotta write em to get em. Well he has a wife to write him a letter a day, what does he know. Still Hawkeye hasn't written Trapper since Sidney left so it's worth a try.

_Dear Trapper,  
I appreciate the cookies Cathy and Becky baked. Some of them were pretty inedible - I'm sure those were the ones you helped with - but we had a competition to see who could skip them farther in the cesspool, so no real loss there. I won three bucks betting on Igor, he coulda been an Olympic discus thrower. Try and send more molasses ones next time, those were the stand-out scum skippers. Well Radar's yelling about choppers so I'll pick this back up later. Exactly when depends on whether or not I can convince a nurse to be seen with me at tonight's movie._

Despite the lack of nursely company both during and after the movie, Hawkeye doesn't have a chance to continue his letter until the next day. He spends the night in a sort of paternal vigil, waiting for BJ to come back from post-op or wherever he's actually ended up. He has a sudden and intense burst of sympathy for his dad on Hawkeye's own prom night. Although Hawkeye may be the worse off, cuz he hadn't learned the finer points of making whoopee till undergrad and BJ has a wife and a kid and oh yeah a wife. So it's not a peaceful night, but the next morning is worse.

_Well it's tomorrow, Trap, and BJ has joined the rest of us mere mortals and slept with a nurse. It was Donovan, a beautiful woman, with class and taste. Never went out with me for some reason, though not for lack of trying on my part. She's married so I suppose it's just as well. Although she might not be married much longer. She got a Dear Jane letter - that's what started the whole thing. BJ was comforting her about it and then whoops slipped and fell into her bed.  
I don't really know how to feel about that I guess. If it'd been anyone else who'd done it, I'd feel happy for the guy and kinda jealous that she didn't pick me to be her shoulder to cry on. But it being BJ, I dunno it's different. I really put my foot in my mouth when I saw them at breakfast - and don't you dare say anything about it living there you schmuck. But it really got to me and I don't know why. I mean you slept around all the time, hell we went on double dates, and it didn't bother me. I guess cuz you didn't seem prone to emotional attachments; you could leave it all in Korea and it wasn't gonna wreck what you had back home. BJ was so cut up about it, I caught him writing his wife. He was gonna come clean, tell her everything. I told him not to ruin his marriage because of one little mistake and burnt the letter. He's so guilty about it, I know he won't do it again - another point against him joining the pervert's club - but part of me is almost glad that he succumbed to temptation. It's proof that he's human after all, as affected by this hell-hole as the rest of us. And the other part of me feels betrayed that he would turn out to be just like the rest of us._

And Hawkeye starts to think about why he didn't care about Trapper sleeping around. After all, Hawkeye wouldn't touch married women, wouldn't help them cheat. He'd had several one-night stands with men he wasn't a hundred percent sure weren't married, but it wasn't something he exactly sought out. Trapper was, as in most things, an exception. Maybe it was like he said; Trapper didn't care about anything beyond a fun time and forgetting about the war for a few brief stolen hours. But that wasn't exactly true either. He and Trapper are friends and genuinely love each other, even if Hawkeye isn't sure that it's in a romantic way. It's hard to express your feelings for another man across thousands of miles and unknown numbers of army censors. And he knows they won't get a white picket fence and a happily ever after. But he still cares for Trapper, and Trapper still cares for him, more deeply than just about anyone else.

Maybe it's because sleeping around with nurses was something of a cover for Hawkeye and Trapper's relationship. If they hit on, and bedded, enough nurses people were more likely to look the other way if he and Trapper got caught in a compromising position. Now that Trapper's gone and Hawkeye hasn't slept with a man outside R&R, he doesn't need to sleep around as much. Sure he likes some of the nurses, but he's started hitting on the ones like Donovan and Margaret who he knows he's got no chance with. He can keep up his womanizing reputation, and the safety that entails, without having to actually follow through.

And that takes Hawkeye to the third reason. When Trapper was here, hooking nurses was something of a friendly competition between the two of them. And they went on a lot of double dates - they'd even had a memorable menage a trois. So it was something fun to do with a friend. But BJ being faithful put a curtail on that sort of stuff and Hawkeye finds himself spending more and more nights in playing board games with self devised rules or writing to his dad or Trapper while BJ writes to Peg. As much as he likes sex, Hawkeye likes spending time with his friends - whether Trapper or BJ - just as much. But BJ's currently down in the dumps about Donovan and Hawkeye doesn't know what to do.

_BJ's been moping around for about a week now. I think I may have messed up - not a thing I admit to lightly, as you know. I just know how much the thought of our family back home is what gets us through this and I was worried that if he didn't have a wife and daughter to go back to, he wouldn't try so hard to get back. But he hasn't been able to talk to Donovan at all, much less civilly. So maybe he shoulda written his wife and she could've absolved him of the guilt and he coulda moved on. As little as I believe in god, and as lapsed a Catholic as you are, maybe they got something right with the whole penance and absolution thing. Way easier to tell Father Mulcahy you cheated than your wife. Although I'd feel pretty bad letting down the good Father like that - like kicking Radar's dog. Or Radar.  
I'm not expecting you to solve this problem. To be honest, I don't know that it can be solved with anything but a time machine. But as the other married person I'm friends with, I wouldn't mind a little perspective. Of course, by the time you get this and I get your response, the war will be over and the point will be moot. Thanks for being a listening ear anyway, assuming you didn't throw away this letter after the first paragraph where I insulted your cookies.  
Your friend,  
Hawkeye_


	5. Chapter 5

The activity meter at the 4077 has swung around to lull again and, on top of that, the mail's late. Hawkeye's taken to reviewing all the nurses charts as thoroughly as Margaret, just to have something to do. But eventually, his shift in post-op is over and even that small diversion is taken from him. It's too cold to do anything outside, so Hawkeye collapses in his bunk, too overcome with ennui to sit up. He's about ready to start counting mildew stains on the Swamp tent canvas, but decides his fingers are thawed out enough to write a letter.

_Dear Trapper,  
I'm cold. And bored. I'm so cold and bored that I'm writing you this letter just so I can read and then burn it. Though the reading part's going to be a little difficult as Klinger just stole all our lightbulbs for the OR. And all the kids in post-op now have a mandatory sundown lights out. We may have to do night rounds by flashlight, but at least it cuts down on the inter-patient hanky panky. The light's failing and so are my wits, so I'll leave you for now._

Hawkeye doesn't get a chance to while away the hours dreaming of Betty Grable and apple pie but at least the influx of wounded give them something to do. Unfortunately, the supplies run out before the patients do. And Supply has fucked up again because the army can't even order a cup of coffee without starting a major international incident. But at least the mail's come in, even if it's only a package for BJ. As Swamp-mates, he's honor bound to share with Hawkeye, whether he knows he's sharing or not.

_One interminable OR session later and we are now out of silk, gauze, and, thankfully, patients. I am also out of patience. In good news, we have been delivered of an ice cream churn so at least we can do something useful with all the snow. Also, BJ's wife sent him a mystery novel. I have dibs on reading it second, but he's reading slower than the mess tent coffee pours. I'm about ready to murder him just so I can read the toe tag.  
  
It's a smutty mystery novel! If Peg weren't already married to BJ, I'd try for her myself. What a woman! I may try anyway. After all, why settle for Prince Charming when you can have the Evil Queen? This metaphor may have gotten away from me slightly. At any rate, why doesn't anyone love me enough to send me smut? And yes, this is an incredibly veiled hint about what to get me for my next birthday, Trapper. Smut or a smut sending wife, I'm not picky. It's my turn for chapter thirty-four so I'll write you later.  
  
Bad news, there's a page missing. And it's the last page so we don't know whodunnit. Dr. BJ Hunnicutt is on the case, but Sherlock Holmes he ain't. So if you happen to stumble on the answer, write me back. It'll be faster than waiting on BJ._

It's back to boring around the 4077 so Hawkeye and BJ are taking a stroll through post-op when Winchester almost kills a patient. He just stood there, frozen, like a statue made of pompousness and shock. Hawkeye'd bet real money Winchester'd never even taken a shift in ER if he reacted this slowly. And he'd apparently never learned to read either. Patient saved, Hawkeye left before he did something satisfying but court martial worthy.

_Winchester almost killed a patient and he's being a real pain in my tuchus about it. Won't even admit he screwed up. Boy you sure weren't kidding about posh Boston doctors being full of you know what. I'm glad I met you first, otherwise I'd have probably written off the entire state of Massachusetts by now. And he had the nerve to say I was jealous of his surgical skills during his so called "apology" for malpractice and gross negligence. Compared to that, I'd even take Frank back. At least his apologies were groveling insincerity rather than pompous. I'll be back later, I've got to go label all the Curare bottles with DO NOT ADMINISTER AS AN ANALGESIC for our resident incompetent.  
  
Trapper please, please go out and buy "A Rooster Crowed at Midnight" by Abigail Porterfield and mail it to me. Hell, you can keep the smut, just sent the last page. Please, I'm begging you! I need to know who dunnit so BJ will shut up and I can go to sleep.  
Your desperate friend,  
Hawkeye_


	6. Chapter 6

Charles had saved that kid's life in OR today and Hawkeye's glad about it, he really is. Doing an open-heart massage is tough going. He's only had to do three in Korea and each one feels like it's taken five years off his life. Holding a dying man's heart in your hands, being responsible for bringing him back from death, it's terrifying. Gets you right down in your soul. But any goodwill, any charitable thoughts Hawkeye ever had about Charles evaporate like mist as Charles points a spotlight on himself. Bringing in a reporter like it's all just a big publicity stunt instead of the fulfillment of his Hippocratic oath, his job as a doctor. Hawkeye gets annoyed enough by his tentmate giving interviews all hours of the day or night, he retreats to the mess tent - where no sane man dares venture alone - to write a letter to Trapper. After all, all his verbal complaints have fallen on deaf ears.

_Dear Trapper,  
I'm writing to you about Charles again, so fair warning - this letter will probably be about ninety percent bellyaching. If you want happy and non-complainy letters, get a penpal who isn't stuck in Korea with the most pompous, sanctimonious sonofabitch to ever draw breath. I thought old Doc Vanderhaven was bad but Charles really takes the cake. To be fair, it may partially be my fault. You know I don't admit guilt lightly but who are you gonna tell about this? Don't answer that. For all I know, you read these out loud in the staff room. I'll try to include more steamy interludes in the future - wouldn't want you to lose your audience due to bad material. But anyway, back to Charles. He had a patient croak on his table and he brought him back using open-heart massage. We were all congratulatory about it - it's not every day someone comes back from the dead, even around here. I payed him a genuine complement even. And it all seems to have gone to his already swelled head. He actually called some schmuck from Stars and Stripes out to this cesspool to do a little propaganda piece on the great Dr. Charles Emerson Winchester, III. All part of his ongoing ploy to be reassigned to Tokyo. I'll give him one thing, he's as persistent as Klinger in trying to get out of here. I just hope he doesn't start wearing dresses, he hasn't got the figure for it.  
But Charles has been a real pain in the butt with all this publicity jazz. Trying to puff himself up, talking about his rich family and impeccable breeding - like he's a dog or something. Maybe they didn't cover the Hapsburgs at Choate. It really gets to me, all that talk about superiority through bloodlines. And he's a real jerk to Klinger, too. I'm sorta surprised he hasn't said anything about me, other than I'm a country bumpkin from Maine - I throw enough Yiddish around. Maybe that's not his gripe, I dunno. But between the Wagner and the emphasis on pedigree, he ain't exactly my favorite person. And part of that is cuz he's competent - ok more that competent, he's good. Frank Burns was a piece of work but he was also a walking surgical disaster and a sniveling coward. He had to believe he was superior as an American, a Christian, a white man because otherwise he'd have to admit to being a failure. And everyone with half a brain could see he was just kidding himself. But Charles is different. He's smart, skilled, and wealthy. Everyone in his life has told him that's because of his breeding. And that everyone who's different doesn't deserve the same opportunities, the same considerations, that he does because they're not of "the right stock." So he can believe that horseshit cuz he's never run into anything that's proved it wrong. It makes me sick. He's a doctor, a surgeon even. He's cut up enough people to know we all got the same squishy bits inside us. An A pos is an A pos is an A pos. You can't tell blue blood from a poor man's, it all just looks red. I told you there'd be a lot of griping in this letter. Didn't mean for there to be so much pontificating, though. Guess I shouldn't have taken that debate and rhetoric class in college - I couldn't even convince Lana Wiggs, the opposition, to sleep with me. I'm going to take a swing through post-op to check on a couple kids, so I'll come back to complain some more later._

Martinez, the aneurysm patient Charles had earlier, looks bad. He's leaking enough blood the duty nurse should've raised the issue to Charles hours ago. To be fair to Stevens, she probably did and Charles told her the same thing he told Hawkeye - that all that escaping blood was completely normal and to stop interrupting his press conference. Now maybe Hawkeye attended school in Androscoggin instead of Cambridge, but at least they taught him that internal bleeding was bad and should be stopped as soon as possible. But Charles effectively strong-armed him out of post-op so Hawkeye will just have to come back later once he and his entourage clear out.

_I'm back from post-op and even more pissed at Charlie. He has an aneurysm patient who's not looking great. There's bloody discharge in the chest tubes that's apparently been going on for at least three hours. I think Charles was too busy showboating for the press and missed a bleeder. He doesn't want to go back in, though. Told me all this was normal post-operative discharge and the patient would even out. And then he had the gall to say I was just trying to show him up - get a place on the front page. As if anyone uses Stars and Stripes anywhere but the latrine. Still it really gets me how little he cares about the patients. And then to presume the same about me! I'm writing you now to avoid decking Charles, so be glad this part isn't just a string of four letter words. Anyway, I'm going to keep an eye on the kid and if he hasn't improved, I'm going in again. With or without Charles' approval. I'm not letting a kid croak just cuz someone's ego is too big to even consider the possibility that he made a mistake. And if it does get me into Stars and Stripes, I'll send you a copy to keep under your pillow._

Hawkeye's been popping in on Martinez all day, and there's been no change to his condition. And at around nine o'clock, he can't just sit idly by anymore while the kid bleeds to death. He goes back in. And surprise surprise, he finds a bleeder. Hawkeye doesn't begrudge Potter assigning the aneurysm case to Charles - they are his specialty - but he does begrudge Charles being so wrapped up in showing off that he didn't bother to check his sutures. It's a rookie mistake with potentially lethal consequences. The vindictive part of Hawkeye is glad Charles got his own shortcomings so thoroughly rubbed in his face. The doctor part is just glad the kid's gonna be ok.

_Well, I went in again on the aneurysm patient and found a slipped suture line. Charles seems to expect me to rib him about it, like it's just some big joke. And maybe I do joke about a lot of stuff I shouldn't - it's either that or go crazy for real - but there's nothing funny about this. And at least Charles seems to know it. He tore up the article singing his praises and that shows a level of integrity I'd assumed the Winchesters had bred out generations ago. It gives me hope that he'll eventually become less of a crumb, something that sets him above Frank Burns - who I'm sure will reach his death bed certain that he alone is right and the rest of the world is wrong. And don't worry, I'll still send that issue of Stars and Stripes. The replacement article is a photo shoot of Klinger's renditions of famous motion picture roles. Everything from Gone with the Wind to The Wizard of Oz. The perfect thing to keep you company on those cold Boston nights. Hopefully my next letter won't be so Charles-centric. He doesn't deserve any more attention than he already gets._  
_Your friend,  
Hawkeye_


	7. Chapter 7

Even after Hawkeye leaves the O Club, a box of tongue depressors under his arm, he can't get his conversation with BJ out of his mind. The army does treat them like interchanging parts - as soon as one breaks or wears out, another is issued to replace it. BJ for Trapper, Potter for Henry, Charles for Frank. Even Klinger for Radar. He wonders who'll replace him when he finally breaks.

_Dear Trapper,  
I've been thinking about your leaving recently. See the army, in their infinite wisdom, sent us a cool half-million tongue depressors - enough to last five years. And I got to thinking, what if this war does last five years. Or ten. Hell, they teach us about the Hundred Years War in school. Why not try to beat that record? Of course, by the end of it all the hills they're trying to capture and recapture will have been worn down to nothing, but it's still a noble endeavor. They'll have to plant some more trees for all those future tongue depressors, though. And now I'm depressed.  
I've been here since the beginning - before the Swamp was the Swamp, even - and it's starting to feel like I'll be here till the end. Although exactly what end - or who's - that'll be is anybody's guess. You got to go home, Henry got his travel orders at least even if he never made it all the way back, Frank got to go home, Jones got transferred to Tokyo due to being a neurosurgeon, the lucky bastard - wish I'd have known, I would have picked a different specialty. And I know they prioritized rotating out the guys with wives and kids back when the peace talks looked like they were going somewhere. And I'm glad you got to go home to your family, I really am. But I can't help hating you all a little bit. It feels like everything keeps changing around here and I'm standing still. Stuck in place until I die or the war ends, whichever happens last. Well I'm not going to be just another tongue depressor in the war machine._

So Hawkeye builds his tower of Babel - just a little monument to his hubris in thinking that the army would ever understand that it was a protest of the war, not an endorsement. And so when Maury makes it clear that he wants to use the monument as a recruiting drive, a way to add more names to the tower, Hawkeye has no choice but to destroy it. And he has to admit, it's really satisfying to see Maury's visions of brass bands and bloody children go up in smoke. But it makes things seem even more futile. He protests the war and the war just twists his actions to its own sick ends and he's left with nothing to show for his efforts. But if he stops fighting the was against the war, then it wins without contest. And he's too petty to allow that to happen. If you can't beat em, gum up the works a little.

_You'll be glad to know that I stayed up for forty-eight hours straight - and it wasn't in the OR. The feat that allowed me to break my previous awakeness record - set during a very enjoyable Tokyo R &R that I'll have to reenact once I get back stateside - was the building and ultimate demolition of a tower commemorating the wounded who've come through here. This monument to the army's hubris in the face of shellfire was fittingly destroyed by some det cord left to us by a homeward bound patient. The one good act ever committed by army demolition materials.  
I guess I don't know what it means that I built and then destroyed a replica of the Washington Monument made out of tongue depressors inscribed with the names of all the wounded we've treated. Given that it was made out of wood and white glue, it wouldn't have lasted very long anyway. Maybe that's a commentary on the disposable nature of frontline soldiers to the Pentagon and the folks in the rear echelon. Or maybe I'm just full of shit. After all, I'm a surgeon, not an art critic. But I look at that crater, all that remains of my mania-induced act of rogue architecture - and I feel like I've had a visible impact on this place. Korea has changed me but now I've changed Korea too.  
I just don't really want to think about what it means that I've changed it by putting another crater in the landscape. I guess I'll just have to find a more constructive act of artistic protest in the future. Send any suggestions in your next letter.  
Your friend,  
Hawkeye_


	8. Chapter 8

Hawkeye's been kinda thinking about the war lately. Not that he isn't always thinking about it, even when he does his level best to forget it with gin and sex and practical jokes. But this isn't the edge of his mind awareness of artillery and wounded and the front, only a few miles away. This is a purposeful, focused think. Ever since that recruitment officer showed up wanting to take Hawkeye's protest and turn it into an endorsement, he's been thinking about how the war looks back home. Peace talks have been dragging out for over a year now, with very little accomplished other than everyone in the room not killing each other. Which for a war is maybe pretty good. But it's discouraging. And Washington just keeps pumping out patriotism and kids keep getting drafted and then ending up on his table. And no one outside of him and a few other malcontents really seem to give two hoots about what a colossal waste of time and life this all is. Hell, even Potter is getting sick of the war but he can't say anything cuz he's regular army and they tend to take a guys pension away for maligning the war effort. And he'd written to Truman even, but that had been more to make himself feel better than because he actually expected a result. Hawkeye just wishes that someone could make the folks back home see the terrible reality of this place and maybe they'd realize that they shouldn't be over here fighting a stupid useless war over a couple miles of Korea and then he can just pack up and go home already. And when famed journalist Clayton Kibbee shows up, it almost looks like Hawkeye'll get his wish.

_Dear Trapper,  
We have a celebrity guest here at the 4077 this week, the journalist Clayton Kibbee. Author of some of WWII's greatest hits - brave American GIs liberate France, the True View of the Front, etc. I guess it makes sense he'd be hanging around Korea, even if this is a police action and not a war. There's still a front - or an affront - and the generals are doing a bang up job liberating Seoul of all its sake. Meanwhile Clay's doing a good job of liberating our still of all its gin. And from his stories, he coulda liberated France all by himself.  
But I guess it'll be nice to have a story about saving lives instead of taking them. See, he brought over some blood his readers donated and he's gonna do a story about the kids who get the blood in our OR. It's supposed to encourage giving blood, which I'm all for. The amount of times we've had to practically drain the enlisted men I'm surprised we aren't running a camp full of anemics. Anyway, you'll have to tell me how the stories turn out. They'll be published in real magazines, not Stars and Stripes, so it'll be faster for you to send me a letter about them than for me to get the actual magazines. The army is still sending about half our periodicals to South Dakota instead of South Korea. I wouldn't mind so much, but half my periodicals are medical journals and the other half are **anatomical studies**. And both are very important over here._

Clayton Kibbee is starting to lose some of his shine in Hawkeye's eyes. And not just because he stole Hawkeye's date. Though that may have been what pushed him to start looking at the man a little less charitably. Cuz ok, he'll admit he was a little star struck at first. The guy's a first rate story teller. A real man's man - and not the way he usually means that. But you hear enough old war stories - and these are full of guts and glory not like Potter's war stories which are full of humor and misery in nearly equal measure, the mark of a man who's lived through two wars at the front - and you start to wonder if the guy isn't full of shit. And then he stole Hawkeye's date. So when he hears Clayton give his pack of lies over the phone, he's not surprised. But he sure is mad.

_Never mind about getting those magazines, Trapper. I overheard Clayton giving his first story over the phone and it's Yankee Doodle Doctor all over again. And he's not even a general. Just some schmuck who doesn't think war is romantic enough anymore. As if there's anything the least bit romantic about being blown to pieces in a muddy foxhole. At least he's puffing up the kids rather than the doctors - and he's really outdoing himself there, he turned a self-inflicted motorcycle accident into a sniper attack behind enemy lines - but I think it'll make him harder to stop than the General Clayton. And maybe more dangerous. How many kids'll march right down to the recruitment office off of his articles? And BJ's going to be no help on this one. The kid who was in the accident gave BJ the motorcycle in thanks and since then, he hasn't heard a word I've said. I just wish he'd take up a nice safe hobby like juggling hand grenades.  
I dunno why this whole thing is bothering me so much. I mean, we all know everyone from Washington to Uijeongbu is lying through their teeth about this war - starting by calling it a police action. But if this is the kind of bullshit the folks back home are getting shoveled, no wonder everyone's so gung-ho about it. Well, from where I'm standing in the mud and the shit and the blood, there's noting romantic about it. And Clayton keeps saying he wishes this war stood for something, like good old WWII. The fact that it doesn't might just indicate that we're wasting our time over here and ought to just pack it in and head home. If I'm lucky and get a sympathetic censor, you might even get to read fifty percent of this letter. But even if I'm just talking to myself here, I am curious about what the war looks like back home so feel free to chime in if this part gets left in.  
Your friend,  
Hawkeye_

After Clayton's drunken, vainglorious motorcycle accident, it looks like Hawkeye's words have sunk in a little. But no, he's just moving on to a different part of the war. Keen to relive his glory days and maybe make up some new ones. Hawkeye knows he'll be intensely skeptical of any kind of war related news in the future. If guys like Clayton Kibbee can turn this Korean fiasco into propaganda, what else can they do? And fighting back is really just starting to feel pointless. Hawkeye protests the war and it's turned against him. Hawkeye tries to get the truth out there and it's immediately buried by another pack of lies. He's getting tired of fighting. But if he just gives in, the war will have won completely and he refuses to give it that satisfaction. So he'll just have to keep fighting, futile or not. It means something to him, even if he can't reach anyone else.


	9. Chapter 9

Hawkeye's back at the 4077 after his little vacation at the Tokyo funny farm and it's terrible to be back. How come when Frank went crazy, they made him a Lieutenant Colonel and shipped him home? Meanwhile, Hawkeye gets sent back to Hell. Maybe if he started chasing generals' wives. But no, he can't afford to get shipped home because they're already down a surgeon because BJ Hunnicut went home. Without saying goodbye. Hawkeye's checked every belonging he has, even taken the still apart, and nothing. Not even a goodbye by proxy. And that really fucking hurts. Admittedly, he was pretty rotten to BJ when he came to visit. But some sort of closure would have been nice.

On the plus side, the peace talks are talking truce - and a permanent one this time. So Hawkeye may be going home soon anyway. On the down side, business is booming as both sides make last ditch efforts to grab as much dirt as possible before lines are redrawn. And they really need another surgeon in OR damnit. Cuz Hawkeye's not really operating like he used to. See a surgeon's got to be a pretty big egomaniac to be any good. They've got to go in there knowing they can pull it out, knowing they're the best and that they can save whoever's on the table. Once they start doubting and second guessing, the patient's as good as dead. That'd been Steve Newsome's problem. He'd gotten so overwhelmed that he just froze. Couldn't make a decision, even a wrong one. And now Hawkeye's - well, not second guessing - but hesitating in a way he never has before. And it's slowing up the works. And he's afraid that he won't be able to work in a big, fast-paced hospital once he gets stateside. And now he's back on the subject of going home and he still hasn't worked up the courage to write to his dad about all this. Maybe it'd be easier if he wrote to someone else first.

_Dear John,  
Don't worry, it's not that kind of Dear John letter. You just have an unfortunate first name. But it is going to be a hard letter for me to write. I tried writing my dad this letter about three different times and I just couldn't do it. So I'm writing to you instead. Maybe because you talk so much about how you've changed since we've seen each other. Maybe you won't expect me to be the exact same either. See, what happened was, I went crazy. For real this time. Couldn't operate, a danger to myself and others, sent to an asylum crazy. And I just don't know how to break that news to my dad. So I guess this is a kind of practice run - not that I don't want you to know. Well, I don't want anyone to know - because I don't want it to be true - but the cat's out of the bag and I don't really have anyone else to talk to about this. Other than Sidney, but I've talked to him enough.  
All the others at the 4077 have been really awkward about this - treating me like I'm messed up, like I'm fragile. And to tell the truth, I'm feeling messed up and fragile but I'm still a person, still me, not some ticking time bomb. They don't really look at me and see a person right now. And that hurts. But I was pretty rotten to them too - I've already done a whole apology tour, but it doesn't feel like enough. I know that they were trying to help me, when they called in Sidney. But I couldn't see that at the time. Couldn't admit that I needed help. So I felt betrayed and angry. I guess I still feel like that a little, because BJ left without telling me. He's my best friend over here - or was - and I didn't get so much as a handshake by proxy.  
The one guy over there that I maybe could have talked to about this, gone. And even then, I don't know if I could have told him as much as I'm telling you. Don't get me wrong, everyone at the 4077 is a great friend and I love them all. But I don't really feel like I can lean on them the way I can with you. There I gotta be the one people lean on. The one that keeps the war away with jokes and righteous anger. And I don't know if I can be that guy anymore. And they're all busy planning their lives after the war anyway. I'm sure by the time you get this, it'll be old news, but the war's actually ending. And everyone has big, bright futures to plan for. I just feel lost. Adrift. But you're already home. A beacon I can use to light my way. And maybe I'm putting too much pressure on you now, but it feels good to have someone to lean on so I'm going to be selfish for a little while. Pretend everything between us will be ok.  
And here I am, beating around the bush again. Sidney's been very against that. So I'll just come out and say it and if you hate me and never want anything else to do with me, I'll understand.  
I killed a baby.  
Sure, I didn't smother it to death myself. No, I kept my hands clean and made the mother do it. See, a Chinese patrol was in the area and we had a bus full of hospital staff, wounded, and refugees. And there was this baby on the bus, fussing and crying and making all kinds of noise. And I was so scared we were going to get found. I kept telling the mother to just shut the kid up. Got snapish, got angry. And so she did. Because I told her to. And I guess that messed me up enough that I wouldn't let myself remember till just now. I remembered the kid as a chicken even. I don't know that I'll ever be able to eat chicken again. And I'm definitely not going into pediatrics. Even just being back in the OR is hard, and that's after Sidney got me sane. Made me remember what I'd done. And remembering, knowing, almost feels like enough punishment. But I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for what I did. And I'm not expecting you to either.  
But I guess I just don't know where to go from here. The war looks like it might actually end soon and I don't know what to do or where to go. And your letters have really been a lifeline, so I'm writing to you now. I hope I'll hear from you, but I understand if I don't.  
Sincerely,  
Benjamin Pierce_


End file.
